September 17, 2015

if i kept true to myself, my very own version of nude would lean toward the rather pallid, a dull yellow with the faintest hint of bruise – andbetween you and me, that’s not a lip colour – that’s something you want to cover up with this year’s top rated concealer. (if you’re looking for a few options, i could let you in on a few of my favourites.)

the nude i covet, the sueded mauve that looks unlike any actual colour i’ve seen on any real life naked person, is the lip i’ve sought out for years now – it’s akin to my very own holy grail, (yes, i have two – this, and the liquid liner). now that i think about it, if i spent half as much time perfecting what i looked like – actually naked, as opposed to finding it, i’d just forego the lipstick all together.

September 1, 2015

“the only thing to do with good advice is to pass it on. it is never of any use to oneself.” // o. wilde

if i thought for even the quickest of self-centered moments – that any word, or combination thereof i’ve committed to screen would be construed as any form of advice, encouragement or persuasion; a red heat would inevitably creep into my cheeks and i’d scurry away with my tail between my legs and close up shop; or at the very least edit, edit, edit to within an inch of its digital life.

i’d be remiss if i didn’t make it clear that this has alway been an exercise in self-interest – predominantly superficial, primarily sartorial and occasionally existential – as in, my own. should anyone else find themselves hidden in between the lines, i’d be plumb thrilled, of course i would – but trust, that that’s not really been my aim. who am i anyway, to dole out advice? i can sometimes make a dinner out of a bag of cheetos.

and yet.

there comes a time in every woman’s life where she must do something she vowed never to do – and today, i have taken it upon myself to tell you what i believe to be the fundamental four – those pieces that were you to upgrade, trade, or, i apologize for this, to invest in – these would be it.

go forth and read said advice… no need to heed it, but you know, just accept that it’s happening.

i do, however, crush hard and fast, but then the feelings fade as quickly and as stealthily as they crept in. it’s probably lucky for my husband that this has remained the case for the last almost-12 years; otherwise the work of love and marriage would be an ever harder toil; we like to keep it breezy over here.

when i do find myself dizzy with a little bit of lust, it’s rarely in response to a boy; i mean sure, i enjoy a ryan gosling just as much as the next gal (or guy), but when i swoon, it’s not really a blonde i go for. my type is strong, but silent – glints in the light, and only makes a scene when i drop it on the floor; understandably.

i admit, sometimes i need a diversion, and step out with handbags and sunglasses; but those are just flings, i’m serious about my tchotchke.

June 9, 2015

“i still have my feet on the ground, i just wear better shoes.” // o. winfrey

it started at my heels.

thinking that my gait was too peasantly and thus my heels too craggy to be shown to the congregated masses, i chose to never wear open-backed shoes. it took a few years to navigate that ridiculous hurdle and bring it round to the front — to find myself contemplating the state of my toes. and then they left me nonplussed; were they too flinstonian? too unrefined? literally too unpolished to be shown in polite company?

and then i decided to free my mind, and my feet followed suit. i set them free, i let them out, and i haven’t looked back. well, there was summer ’14, when i wore nothing but my beloved bensimon plimsolls; but this summer – this summer my toes will be polished and my feet will be fancy free.

June 4, 2015

“i know enough of the world now to have almost lost the capacity of being much surprised by anything” // c. dickens

lest it be said i’m too proud to admit my faults, let me be perfectly clear – my self-deprecation is really the only thing i can pat myself on the back for.

but, where i have placed no small amount of bragging rights would be in that part of my character that appreciates the aloofness that city-living has afforded me. the jaded and occasional ironic sense of humor that speaks of my years living downtown, and how there is very little now that could possibly surprise me. i’ve seen it all.

unless you wanted to make things too on the nose, a surprise party, footsteps creeping up behind me, loud noises in the middle of the night – those things could still catch me unawares; but little else.

so, when i happen upon a pair of pointy toed day-glo flats that beckon me near like the automatic pull of north to south, and a frothy slip of a dress that makes me rethink my stance on wearing white; well – knock me down with a feather – the old girl still has it in her – and, that’s a surprise.

wait. am i a girly-girl underneath all this black muslin and creepers?